


What an Expensive Face

by UnCon



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Friends to Lovers, Light suicidal ideation, M/M, Though there is a plot it centers more on Hank and dealing with his emotions towards Connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 23:08:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16314398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnCon/pseuds/UnCon
Summary: With an inability to express just how he truly feels about Connor's face, Hank's resigned to coasting just on the wrong side of awkward, putting his foot in his mouth on more than one occasion. And Gavin's there, a surprising voice of reason at the most inopportune times.[This is a Hankcon fic.]





	What an Expensive Face

**Author's Note:**

> [Or, I think you're pretty cute, I like you a lot--maybe we should go out or something]
> 
> What's this? An original fanfiction not related to my Ace universe? 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! I've been wanting to write this for months.  
> I wrote and edited it myself, so if you see any mistakes I apologize, also, don't be afraid to point them out. 
> 
> Much Love!

It was the shape of his jaw in profile that caught Hank’s attention. Today had been a day like any other, filled with non-essential bullshit, laced with alcohol, and dipped in depression. The only difference being Connor was there—a light-house in the dark and stormy night.

Hank shook his head, the enchantment disappearing when the android turned his chin, regarding the lieutenant with a soft smile.

It was the first of many occasions where Hank would find himself staring into space just to realize he’d been looking at Connor. If the bot noticed, he didn’t say.

His fascination with Connor ended when they walked through the door of his home. Hank wondered why—maybe it had something to do with the lack of titles or barriers. Here they were just Hank and Connor (and Sumo)—a man and his android friend.

A game and a few beers later, Hank was ready to retire to his room, exhausted despite not doing much.

If he could be honest with himself, he’d admit he never thought he’d last this long. His line of work wasn’t very forgiving to a mere mortal like him. Hank wondered if the future of the police department rested on the androids’ shoulders or if humans were too arrogant to let machines protect them. Hank knew he’d been in the opinion of the latter for many years.

But it was late, and he was tired, so he slept, thoughts of jawlines carved from marble clouding his mind.

It happened again the next day, but this time in the car. They drove towards their next lead, Connor providing directions, beating the preprogrammed GPS, who stopped talking ten minutes after it began.

“I think you’re making it jealous, Connor,” Hank joked, shifting his eyes to the android. Connor grinned, keeping his gaze on the road, and Hank gulped—his cheeks colouring pink.

No one, not even a perfect being, should look that good in profile—it was unfair to the rest of the world.

“Lieutenant,” Connor said, looking at Hank and the steering wheel, “you’ve passed a red light.”

Hank cleared his throat, snapping his head back to the road, feeling hot under his clothes.

He was distracted during their investigation, missing major clues and stumbling over objects. Hank felt like a rookie thrust into his first mission with only a toy gun. “Fucking shit,” he cursed, nearly tripping over a glass bottle.

“Are you okay, Hank?” Connor asked, immediately by the man’s side. He’d wrapped an arm around Hank’s bicep, steadying him.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Hank said through a gruff, feeling his pulse at his throat.

“You seem absent, Lieutenant, do you need to rest?” Connor asked, his tone saturated with concern.

Hank pulled his arm from the android’s grip, patting down his clothes to smooth out the wrinkles and calm down. “I’m not a geriatric, you prick,” he grumbled, “I’m fine.”

Connor bit his lip to keep quiet, knowing if he tried to clarify he’d instigate another argument.

Great, now Connor was aware Hank was a bumbling fool, falling over his own feet to catch another glimpse of the android’s visage.

They finished collecting evidence, the android mindful of how many things he put in his mouth. Hank rubbed his temples as they drove to the precinct, feeling the urge to drown his embarrassment with a bottle of liquor.

Unfortunately, it would have to wait, just like many things in life, time didn’t revolve around Hank.

\--

The sound of the clock-out ding was music to the lieutenant’s ears—he heaved a sigh, nearly sprinting towards his car. Connor followed, knowing Hank’s intentions for the night. He had his opinions, but he shot them down before they were voiced.

Jimmy’s bar was a constant reminder of the night they met, a bittersweet feeling Hank washed away by over-drinking. Tonight, was no exception, given his feelings over the last few days.

Connor sat to his right, watching the television with natural curiosity. Hank followed the line of his cheek, glossing over his lips, how they curved and dipped into a sharp jawline, ending at a point on his chin, and falling to his neck, accommodating his Adam’s apple then disappearing into the hem of his shirt. “What are you anyway?” He mumbled into his drink.

“Alcohol, Hank,” Connor answered without irony.

The lieutenant chuckled dryly, shaking his head in disbelief. “I wasn’t talking about my drink, Connor,” he said after a swallow. “Can’t take everything so literal,” he cautioned, motioning for Jimmy to refill his cup.

“Then why did you ask?” Connor countered, cocking his head, a mannerism Hank swore he adopted from Sumo.

“It was nothin’,” Hank grumbled, feeling his age. “Don’t worry about it.”

Connor couldn’t help _but_ worry and Hank could sense it in the way the android eyed him, his gaze following the glass each time it made it to the human’s mouth.

“Lieutenant,” Connor started, employing a sternness he used when Hank was over his limit. “I think you’ve had enough.”

Hank sighed, taking the glass, disregarding the android’s words. Connor, unamused by Hank’s immaturity, covered the cup, his hand touching Hank’s lips instead. “I mean it.”

They locked eyes, the lieutenant’s annoyed and narrowed, and Connor’s stubborn yet worried.

It was because of their friendship that Hank relented, lowering the glass until it hit the counter with a dull thud. “Whatever.” And with that they left, making their way home.

Connor looked like he wanted to say something, fidgeting with his coin as they walked through the threshold. “Lieutenant, I didn’t mean to—”

“Save it,” Hank said, stopping the android’s apology. “It’s done.”

“I still shouldn’t have—”

“What part of ‘save it’ don’t you understand?” Hank spat, crossing his arms.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” Connor said, dropping his head, feeling chastised.

“Forget it,” Hank said through a sigh, “It’s impossible with you.” He didn’t mean it, but the words escaped him regardless. The guilt he felt for putting that hurt look on Connor’s face was nothing new.

\--

The problem with their relationship is they were both impulsive. Connor with his actions and Hank with his words. The lieutenant warred with the idea as he tried to sleep, fighting with the sheets every few minutes.

Hank opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling for the better part of an hour. If it held all the answers, then it wasn’t telling any.

Giving up on any semblance of rest, Hank stood and ambled towards the kitchen. He dug through his fridge, grabbing a can—the familiar _crack-hiss_ sending an anticipatory shiver down his spine.

Hank paused by the couch, watching how the android slept in a forced-natural position. It’d been by the lieutenant’s request that he laid down to sleep, otherwise, he’d be standing in a corner like an apparition.

“Night Connor,” Hank mumbled, returning to his room.

The android opened his eyes but said nothing, listening for the soft click and rustle of sheets before he closed them again.

\--

“Listen here, you piece of plastic shit—”

“Watch it.”

“Fuck you, Hank,” Gavin said, pointing a finger at the lieutenant. The detective was soaking wet, hot coffee running down his shirt. The android responsible for the mess stood with his arms crossed, his grey-blue eyes regarding Gavin with contempt.

“It was an accident, Reed,” the lieutenant said, trying to intervene.

“A calculated one at that,” Gavin returned, looking at himself in disgust, he could feel the fabric sticking to his skin.

“You have no proof,” the tall android said, amusement shining in his eyes.

“Shut up,” Hank warned, taking the towel Connor handed him and passed it to Reed. “You’re not helping,” he continued, shaking his head.

Gavin pouted, begrudgingly accepting the towel, soaking up the worst of the damage.

They stood in the small break room, the hour too late to be quantified. Nines, the RK900 model, was still getting used to his partner. Hank didn’t blame him for messing with Gavin, anyone else would’ve given up on the detective minutes after meeting him. The fact that he’d lasted a week without incident showed the android’s tenacity.

Hank watched the smirk play on Nines’ lips, an odd feeling passing through him. It seemed wrong, he wasn’t used to Connor’s face looking so smug. The two androids were nearly identical, and from a distance, it’d be hard to distinguish, but here, as Hank flipped back and forth, he noted there could only be one Connor for him.

Which was fine, his partner was a handful anyway.

\--

On his rare days off, Hank took Sumo to the park and let his best friend roam. Connor was a welcome addition to their field-trip, at least Sumo thought so—the android was an infinite well of energy with an endless supply of tennis balls.

Hank smiled, shaking his head at the two. In the early morning sun, Connor’s hair shone like amber, his grin wide and expressive. He looked so different from the first time they’d met—more human.

The lieutenant leaned against the bench, his mind clouding over with thoughts better left buried.

Sumo looked exhausted yet content as he returned, his tongue hanging as he panted, looking at Hank expectantly. “You forget you weren’t a puppy?” Hank asked, rubbing the dog’s head, earning a soft woof in return.

Connor ran through the park, collecting the balls into a bag. When he walked to the duo, Hank had hooked Sumo to his leash and led him to the public doggy fountain, letting him hydrate before they went home.

“That was fun,” Connor said, the sincerity in his tone endearing.

“I’m sure Sumo enjoyed it,” Hank returned, unable to restrain the fondness in his voice.

“I’m glad.”

Hank’s chest squeezed, and he hoped the tightness was from a heart attack and not some misplaced emotion for the android.

\--

“Lieutenant.”

No response.

“Lieutenant.”

A soft grumble.

“ _Hank_.”

“Whaddaya’ want, you fuckin’ android,” the human said through a gruff, lolling his heavy head to the side, saliva and dried vomit sticking to his cheek.

“I did tell you to stop,” Connor reminded, disappointed but not surprised.

“Fuck you,” Hank cursed, struggling to focus. “You’ve been a real pain in my ass lately,” he continued, spitting his words in the android’s direction.

Connor said nothing, just wound his arms under the lieutenant’s shoulders, lifting him, then walked to the bathroom.

“You know this is how I am,” Hank lamented, relying on the android to not drop him. “And you still wanted to stay.” He whispered the last part, his breath hitching with each inhalation.

Connor’s silence worried Hank. He was finally sober enough to focus on his face, close enough to notice the hard-set jaw and furrowed brow, how the muscles in his neck twitched with the effort of carrying Hank.

The android plopped him on the closed toilet, steadying him until he was sure Hank wouldn’t fall. Connor ran a hot bath, generous with the bubbly soap. He took off his jacket and rolled his sleeves, dipping his hands in the water, testing the temperature against a comfort chart. “Stay,” Connor instructed.

“What am I, a dog?” Hank asked, crossing his arms. He did as he was told though, his brain fuzzy, understanding only a fraction of what was going on.

Connor returned with towels and a change of clothes, putting them on the sink. Shamelessly, he began to strip the lieutenant, brushing away the protests until he got to Hank’s boxers. The lieutenant had stilled Connor’s hands, a tremble passing between them. “I can do it,” Hank said with his head bowed, hair covering his eyes.

Connor nodded once and stepped away, giving the lieutenant some privacy. The sloshing of the water caught the android’s attention, he grabbed a small towel and sat by the rim of the tub.

“I can do it—”

“No,” Connor said, leaving no room for arguments, “I’m doing it.”

Hank pouted, feeling like a child. He forgot Connor could be quite intimidating when he wanted, his face pressed into a flat line—only the yellow light of his LED betrayed his emotions.

He wet the washcloth, compressing it over Hank’s scalp, the hot water running through his locks, goosebumps erupting in its wake. Connor did it again, this time running the cloth down Hank’s face, wiping away the dried vomit and slobber. He squeezed some shampoo into his hands, threading his fingers through the man’s hair until the lather turned it from grey to white. Hank shivered, each swipe sending his heart into disarray, his body giving a half-hearted response to the android’s careful ministrations.

God, this wasn’t good for his health.

Hank closed his eyes, biting his tongue to stop his gripes. He wanted to appreciate this kindness, it wasn’t often people paid attention to him like this. Sighing, he leaned against the tub, the water now reaching his chin, covering him like an oversized sweater.

Connor continued to wash him, going behind his ears, across his neck, back and shoulders, stopping only when he reached Hank’s chest. He traced the faded tattoo, a detail about Hank he hadn’t known.

The lieutenant flushed, thankful he could blame it on the heat of the water and not the fact that Connor’s curious fingers set his skin ablaze. Hank was still rather drunk, so it probably explained why he allowed the android to continue.

Yeah, let’s blame it on that.

Connor washed out the bubbles in Hank’s hair and face. The lieutenant could open his eyes again, blinking away the droplets, just to focus on Connor’s neck as he reached for the conditioner. Hank cleared his itchy throat, trying in vain to calm his pounding heart.

“Is everything alright?” Connor queried, quirking an eyebrow, “your pulse has elevated.”

Hank ground his teeth, mortified that the android had heard. “M’fine,” he grumbled, crossing his arms.

“If this is making you uncomfortable,” Connor began, pausing his movements to stare into Hank’s blue eyes, “I can stop.”

“Just finish what you started,” Hank said, exasperation exiting his nostrils in a whoosh.

Connor nodded, massaging the conditioner into the lieutenant’s roots, letting his hands roam to the man’s broad shoulders—working out the knots.

Hank held a fist to his mouth, gulping the sound that threatened to escape. Connor operated with pin-point accuracy, releasing the tension in his partner’s muscles. His focus was laser-sharp, only breaking when Hank groaned, unable to restrain himself further.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said, snatching his hands.

“Are you done?” Hank asked, the anger in his voice juxtaposing his excitement beneath the water’s surface.

“Yes.”

Hank harrumphed, taking the plug from the drain. He closed the curtain, shielding himself from the android’s watchful nature. The showerhead sprayed him with scalding hot water, still programmed to that position, a lesson he learned when he twisted the knob. “Jesus Christ,” Hank hissed, overcorrecting, and now it sprayed ice cold. “Goddammit!”

“Sorry Hank,” Connor said for the millionth time that day.

“Leave me alone, you fucking prick,” the lieutenant pled, rubbing a hand down his face, settling for lukewarm.

Connor nodded, leaving the bathroom but standing guard at the door—just in case Hank needed him.

“Listen,” Hank said after the guilt ate at him—he didn’t mean to snap. “I appreciate what you’re doin’ for me, but it’s not necessary,” he continued, cleaning the conditioner from his hair.

“May I be frank, Lieutenant?” Connor asked, raising his voice above the rushing water.

“When are you not?”

Connor ignored that, continuing, “I care about you,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, “and you worry me.”

Hank felt the beating muscle in his chest constrict. “Tell us what you really think,” he mumbled, stopping the water. “I’m clean now, happy?” he asked rhetorically, drying his hair and donning his clothes. Hank walked to the sink and brushed his teeth, washing away the taste of vomit. 

Connor smiled, but his eyes were stuck between emotions. “You need a haircut,” he said, changing the subject.

“Oh no,” Hank said adamantly, shaking his head. “I’m not letting you anywhere _near_ my scalp with a pair of scissors,” he concluded, pointing an accusing finger at the android.

Connor was perplexed, knowing he was more than capable of handling a haircut. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what I meant,” Hank replied, doing a poor job at elucidating.

The android pinned him with a borderline puppy-dog stare. He seldom used it, that’s why it took Hank so off-guard. It wasn’t until he sat in the kitchen, with a makeshift cape around his neck, that he realized what happened. “Fuckin’ android.”

Connor beamed, and Hank sat quietly as the _snip-snip_ sent sparks of anxiety down his spine.

It’d been a while since he’d got a trim, even longer since he’d cared for one. He trusted Connor, to an extent, but he didn’t remember seeing ‘hair stylist’ on his resume—the last thing he needed was a bowl-cut.

Hank didn’t quibble when the android clipped his beard, going so far as to lift Hank’s chin, tilting in tandem with his head. “I think I’m done.”

“Jesus, what fresh hell have you wrought,” Hank sighed dramatically, feeling exposed as the air touched the nape of his neck.

Connor followed him as he returned to the bathroom, squinting his eyes at the reflection. “Not my style, but,” Hank turned his head, the short trim reaching the top of his ears. With enough encouragement, it could be slicked back and parted—giving him a professionalism he hadn’t possessed in years. “S’not bad,” he finished, nearly forgetting what he was saying.

Connor cracked a half-smile, grateful that the lieutenant saw his work worthy. Hank’s eyes focused on the android’s face, noting how genuine and open it was, especially with his more deviant emotions.

“Night, I’m goin’ to bed,” Hank said, forcing his body to comply and walk to his room.

“Goodnight, Hank.”

\--

The low whistle caught Hank by surprise. He’d been sipping his coffee, watching the morning news, when Gavin sauntered into the break room, pausing to appraise the lieutenant. “Looking good, Hank,” Reed said, lips lifting into a smirk.

“Fuck off, prick,” Hank returned, flipping off the detective.

Gavin didn’t take it to heart, instead, he slinked closer, draping a hand over the man’s shoulder. “I mean it,” he started, seemingly sincere. “I never knew your eyes were so blue,” he whispered, his expression softening.

Hank snorted yet hid his red face into his cup as Reed’s words hit him unexpectedly. “Shut up.”

“Yes sir,” the detective replied with a wink.

Hank nearly choked, the hot liquid spilling over the corners of his lips. Oh, fuck him…Though Hank did have to admit it was flattering.

The day continued without incidence and if people stopped to compliment him, then it needn’t be mentioned.

Hank glanced at his partner, wondering how he felt about the change, he’d been the one to do it after all. It didn’t take long for the lieutenant’s thoughts to wander, lost in the forest of the android’s curls, or the pointy end of his nose. This time the spell didn’t break when Connor turned to look at him—it intensified.

Hank’s hands shook as he brought the cup to his lips, disappointed by its emptiness.

“I can get you another,” Connor said, taking Hank’s well-loved mug.

“Thanks.”

“Of course,” Connor replied, grinning so brightly he competed with the sun.

Like a snake in the bushes, Gavin chose the perfect time to strike, leaving his station to sit on the lieutenant’s desk. “So, about the change,” he began with a smile too flirtatious for Hank. “Seeing anyone new?”

Hank narrowed his eyes, recognizing the signs anywhere. He was depressed, not stupid. “Reed, get off my dick,” he instructed, rubbing his forehead, “I’m too old for you.”

“That’s never stopped me before,” Gavin countered, crossing his legs. “Come on, just a drink or two, nothing serious,” the detective shrugged.

“Since _when_ —” Hank cut himself off, shook his head, and took a deep breath, “look, I’m not sure what game you’re trying to play, but it stopped being cute about five minutes ago, so just—Hank made a shooing motion—go back to being Detective Asshole or whatever it is you do,” he said, suggesting the best course of action.

“If only…” Gavin bemoaned, turning his head, meeting his own partner’s eyes. “You’re a keeper, Anderson,” he continued, clearing his throat.

“What’s with you anyway?” Hank asked, authentic confusion coating his tone, “It’s just a haircut,” he reminded, running a hand through his scalp.

“You really don’t know, do you?” Gavin sounded dumbfounded, “you’re still the envy of most men here.”

Hank made a sound of disbelief, looking away, “Bullshit.”

“No, I’m serious,” Gavin continued, “I mean, sure you’ve let yourself go, but you were the best goddamn PO for miles.” There was a reverence in Gavin’s voice that Hank never knew he owned.

The compliment (as back-handed as it might be) sent an appreciatory shiver down his spine—so, Reed thought he’d been the best.

“Who knows, maybe if the situation were different—”

“I’m gonna’ stop you right there,” Hank said, holding up a hand, “you’ve already painted a target on my head,” he continued, motioning with his chin at the tall android sending death-threats via microwaves.

“And you think I haven’t painted one on mine?” Gavin asked, looking like he knew something Hank didn’t.

The lieutenant shifted his eyes to the other android, who observed Gavin as if he were a rat on his pristine glass-top. Hank looked confused, his face pinched into a tight scowl as the detective hopped off his desk. “At any rate, it’s too late now,” he said, resigned to his own fate. “Just thought I’d let you know a younger me would’ve creamed his pants at the sight of you.”

“ _Agh_! Reed, fucking gross!” Hank exclaimed, covering his ears, shielding them from the detective’s laughter.

\--

Hank wouldn’t lie, some of what Gavin said had gone to his head, and he found himself feeling a little lighter, whistling with the radio.

Connor turned to watch, raising an eyebrow. “Your mood seems to be elevated, Lieutenant,” he commented with a hard edge to his tone, “any reason?”

Hank’s smile died a fraction, knowing it’d be inevitable. He sighed, shrugging his shoulders, “Can’t a guy be happy?”

“Of course, you can, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“It’s okay, Con,” Hank said, saving the android the trouble, “I know what you meant.”

Once home, Hank beelined for the fridge, cracking a cold can and settling for recaps of last night’s match, too tired to flip the channel.

He must’ve dozed off because when he woke the TV was off and something warm laid on his lap. He figured it was Sumo until he ran a hand through it, the soft hair ending prematurely.

Hank froze, unsure if he should speak and make it worse, or hope the android’s ‘sleep function’ operated similarly to a humans'. Connor didn’t seem to notice, or if he had, he was content with the arrangement.

Hank gave into the pleasure one more time, the skin of his palm prickling with each sweep. He stopped when the border between friendship and relationship slapped him.

\--

Hank beat his alarm the next morning, surprised to feel rested. He stretched and walked to his bathroom—staring into the mirror, forcing him to contemplate his physique. The belly was an unfortunate manifestation of his alcoholism, but it wasn’t the end of the world, he couldn’t help the grey hair, it was a consequence of his age, so were his wrinkles, which littered his face every time he made an expression except neutral. The point of this outward introspection was to detail how old he looked. For a second, he wanted to ask why it’d mattered that he changed his hair or stopped aiming a gun at his head every night. (Self-improvement, self-care, self-esteem?)

Hank shook his head, too stubborn to look at his flaws as DIY projects. But if he’d piqued the interest of Gavin (a subjectively attractive man, even if he was a pain in the ass), then maybe hope wasn’t out of reach.

“Come on Sumo,” Hank said, grabbing the leash and collar.

“Mornin’ Hank,” Connor greeted, handing Hank a cup of coffee, “I already took him out,” he reminded, rubbing the dog between the ears.

“I know,” Hank said, shrugging, “thought I’d treat him again, I’m sure he doesn’t mind.”

Connor nodded and donned his jacket, a memento of his android status. “Then allow me to accompany you,” he said, the grin on his face contrasting his cordial request.

“Sure.”

\--

It took time for that to become routine—his new normal if you will. Just like all habits, Hank needed to want it, even on bad days. But that was easier said than done, not every morning started with a sunny sunrise or a willing dog. He persevered, eventually building enough stamina to run with Sumo, even if only for a mile.

Connor didn’t mention the changes. It ate at him, Hank could tell, and he was thankful the android held his tongue. Acknowledging the existence of improvement ruined the illusion that Hank no longer cared.

Slowly, the android incorporated more into their routine. Strength-building exercises being the most intense.

Hank had still retained much of his muscle from his younger years but eating filth and drinking your weight in alcohol covered them with fat.

Even so, that changed, and by the 4th month Hank could feel the difference as well as see it, he wasn’t as winded when climbing the stairs, or faint when they chased a perp.

Gavin never openly flirted, but he’d send a wink or three, letting the lieutenant know he was watching. Other people stared too, and though he didn’t care for their ogling, it did boost his self-image. He’d be remised if he didn’t mention the one person for whose opinion he cared.

“Connor,” Hank gasped, “you’re _killing_ me,” he grunted.

“No Hank, I believe I’m doing just as you’ve asked,” the torturous bastard replied. Hank could just _hear_ the smirk playing on his face like a tug-of-war.

“I’m gonna’ have a heart attack and it’s gonna’ be on you,” Hank threatened, lowering his arms for another push-up.

Connor stopped his own rep, raising a worried eyebrow. “Are you feeling short of breath?” he asked, assessing the lieutenant’s vitals.

“Of course, I’m feeling short of breath, you asshole,” Hank grunted, sweat falling from his body in droves.

“Any pain in your chest or left arm?” The android continued, ignoring the insult.

Hank finished his set, holding himself upright through the protest in his biceps. “Obviously—”

Connor rolled under Hank, quickly shoving his hands under the man’s shirt, placing his fingers around Hank’s wide chest, the worried look only lifting when the EKG returned clear. “You’re a bit tachycardic, but that’s to be expected, otherwise your heart seems healthy,” the android said, watching the lines populate his vision.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Hank asked, too shocked to move. This was the closest they’d ever been to full body contact, and Connor’s handsome face was only inches from his, the browns of his eyes looking like chocolate.

“Taking a reading of your heart.”

Hank was past the point of asking how, “Are you done?” the exasperation in Hank’s voice thickened by another emotion.

“Y-Yes,” Connor said, fumbling his words. “My apologies, Lieutenant,” he continued, clumsily extracting his hands, a soft blush creeping up his cheeks.

Well, this was a first.

Hank had to sit back, breaking the connection before it progressed into a regretful territory. “I think that’s enough exercising for today,” he said, using his tired limbs to haul himself off the living-room floor and into the bathroom.

Who the fuck knew androids could fucking _blush_?

\--

With the revelation came many unwanted consequences, the first of which was Hank’s increased vigilance to his partner’s appearance, more enthralled by its intricacies. He was too much of a wimp to ask, so he just stared, living in eternal unfulfillment until he stumbled into a small moment of reprieve.

Hank sighed into his coffee, his lids feeling heavy in the bright office light. Connor, forever the attentive partner, turned to look, raising his brows at the lieutenant.

“M’fine,” Hank said, hushing Connor’s concerns before they manifested.

The android crossed his arms, a challenging glint in his eyes.

“What?”

Connor squinted, as if he needed glasses, scrutinizing the lieutenant until he cracked. “Jesus, stop that,” Hank ordered, feeling the hairs on his neck stand at attention.

“I’m simply reciprocating,” Connor said, shrugging like he’d recounted the weather. “We are partners, after all.”

Hank coughed, the collar of his shirt feeling tight against his neck. So, the android knew, of course, he knew, _fucking shit_.

“If you have any questions, you can always ask,” Connor continued, poking at his face.

Hank ducked his head, feeling like the ripest tomato of the bunch. A small part of him wondered why it’d taken Connor so long to say anything, had he simply put up with it because of their friendship? Did he not mind?

…Did he like it?

\--

Since there was no point in being stealthy, Hank took to eyeing the android whenever he could. Connor’s lips normally quirked upwards, the only hint he’d noticed.

“You’re a strange one,” Hank commented as he reclined on the couch, a beer in one hand and a pizza slice in the other.

Connor sat on the floor, petting the dog’s large belly. “You’re the one staring at me,” he argued, bringing up a good point.

“Small fortune, huh,” Hank recalled, sticking out his tongue, “how much of that was spent on that silly face of yours?” he asked, hiding his embarrassment behind petty insults.

Connor fought the urge to bristle and stayed calm. “They didn’t allocate an amount, they simply generalized the features to ‘Attractive Male—Type 1.’”

“Why?” Hank asked through a chew.

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Connor replied, leaning back his head to look at the lieutenant.

“Why’d they make you attractive?” Hank clarified, almost as if he were accusing Connor of something beyond his control.

“I don’t know, Lieutenant, why don’t you ask CyberLife,” he answered, his smirk looking crooked upside down.

“Bastard,” Hank grumbled, staring at the television, bringing the bottle to his lips.

Connor’s grin widened and then it died, his shoulders growing tense. “It doesn’t matter, it’s not like it worked, ” he returned his head to a neutral position, stilling his hand on Sumo’s abdomen. 

Hank shifted uncomfortably, overcome with a strong urge to correct Connor. Oh, it worked alright, too fucking well.

He ruffled Connor’s hair, allowed himself the simple desire of touching him—no matter how innocent the act.

The android tensed at the unexpected feeling, stunned into inactivity. He relaxed moments later, pushing his head into the caress, almost against his own volition. 

Hank’s heart beat so hard he could nearly see it. Sighing, he stood, dragging his body to the room, ready to collapse into bed, but not before he locked the door, the click sounding depraved to his starved mind.

\--

They stood, shoulder-to-shoulder, as they circled the environment. Hank had a gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other, slowly they traversed the stairs, each squeak like a beacon to their location.

It was dark, and rain was falling, the pitter-patter putting them on high alert for potential foot-steps. The lieutenant strained to hear anything amiss, focusing half his mind on making sure they could get in and out without incidence.

Connor held a permanent scowl on his face, concentrating, scanning every surface for clues.

Something uneasy settled in Hank’s stomach and he wondered if inhaling an entire burger before the mission was a wise decision. The further they descended the more the feeling solidified until he had an iron ball pressing at his gut.

Scurrying footsteps had them whipping their heads to the ceiling, trying to see the culprit.

Hank flashed the light in the creature’s eyes, it flinched and ducked into the shadows. “Yeah, what the fuck is that?” he asked, trying to work through his momentary fear of the unknown. The silence from his side was uncanny, he called for his partner, turning the light to reveal empty space. “Connor, where the fuck are you?” Hank asked, already pissed.

The scuffle overhead had the lieutenant cocking his gun, pointing it at the sound. A loud thud followed a piercing shriek, the windows rattling from the pitch.

Feeling like a glorified spotlight, Hank shone the light as he ran towards the commotion, faltering when he saw a trail of blue blood leading him to his android and the creature.

Connor seemed to struggle with their limbs, trying to capture them without inflicting bodily harm. He had a knife stuck deep into his cheek obscuring his vision, the errors loud and urgent at his peripherals.

Hank didn’t hesitate to shoot the creature when he had an opening. It didn’t stop it, but it did slow it enough for Connor to get the upper hand.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Hank boomed, uncaring if there were other things around to hear him. “Did you wanna’ get yourself killed?”

Connor blinked quickly, holding the writhing human in his hands. He furrowed his brows, decoding whether Hank had asked a rhetorical question. “No, Lieutenant.”

“Then why the fuck did you just disappear?” Hank hissed, gesturing upwards.

“Sorry Lieutenant,” Connor said, frowning through the object in his cheek. “I thought I told you.”

“Well, obviously you didn’t,” Hank said with a huff, rolling his shoulders to undo the tension. “What is this anyway?” he asked, flashing the light into the creature’s face. The culprit bared her rotten teeth, her hair was matted and stuck to her scalp with all matter of dirt and debris. The wounds on her face (some self-inflicted, some accidental) along with the pink ring around her pupils were tell-tale signs of a Red Ice overdose. “Shit,” Hank sighed, dropping the flashlight, shaking his head. It was just a kid, no older than 18. “You both need help,” Hank said, holstering his gun, grabbing the girl’s arm to help Connor carry her outside.

After filing a police report and dropping her at the hospital, Hank turned his gaze on his partner. “Your face,” he started, unsure how to ask, “you good?”

“It’s not pleasant,” Connor admitted, the corner of his uninjured mouth twitching wryly. “But I’m not in pain if that’s your concern,” he said, easing some of Hank’s worry.

The lieutenant hummed as they got in the car, driving to the nearest CyberLife repair facility. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Sorry for snapping at you,” he said after a breath, “I know this is all still new to you—”

Connor’s voice came through his closed mouth, interrupting the lieutenant. He held a looping image on his palm from his perspective, clear as day stating he was going to investigate. “I did tell you, Lieutenant,” he said, his tone muted as he spoke over himself.

Welp, how could he argue with the evidence?

“You need to make sure I’ve _heard_ you, Connor,” Hank chided even as his cheeks darkened.

The android ground his teeth, turning up the volume on his internal speaker, Hank’s soft ‘yeah’ spoken back to them. “ _I did_.”

…So maybe he’d been scared witless—sue him.

Hank said nothing and kept his eyes on the road—the silence stifling but he was used to that already.

\--

The lieutenant returned home—alone—the reminder upsetting him more than it did Sumo. “He’s getting fixed boy, he’ll be back soon.”

The dog whined, rested his large head by the door, and waited, ever loyal to the android. Hank harrumphed, nonetheless charmed. He rummaged through his fridge for a beer, slumping on the couch, unconsciously following his dog’s lead.

Hank startled awake, the sound of the closing door the cause. “You’re back,” he said matter-of-fact, sipping his stale beer, “how’s the face?”

“Why are you so fixated on it?” Connor asked, his tone harsh. He’d just returned from having a knife stuck in his _cheek_ and the first thing Hank thinks to ask is _‘how’s the face?’_ , like the synthetic covering mattered more than the android’s near-death experience.

“What?” Hank asked, feeling stupid.

“My face, Hank, my face,” Connor snapped, making the lieutenant jump, “always, without fail, you stare at it,” he was getting closer, his irritation driving him to stand in front of Hank. “I’ve asked you about it, but you had nothing to say,” Connor shook his head, chuckling ironically, “nothing nice, anyway.”

Hank felt like a fish, his mouth gaping without sound, “I’m sorry,” he managed to croak. 

Connor narrowed his eyes, pinning the lieutenant with an odd look. “Would it be better if I wore no face at all?” he asked, the artificial cells of his skin disappearing into his fissures, leaving only white.

Hank gulped, warm in strange places. This was the first time he’d seen Connor without his skin (naked, if you will) and he couldn’t believe he was just as attractive, his edges paradoxically smooth and sharp, still as vivid, still as animated.

They were at a stalemate, Hank craning his neck to meet Connor’s eyes, and Connor looking down, his lips set in a thin line as he waited for Hank to say something, _anything_ , to break the stuffy atmosphere.

“I’m going to bed,” _Coward_. Hank rolled his eyes at himself, lifting his large body, trying to push past Connor, but he stood his ground, impossibly close to the Lieutenant.

“Do I disgust you that much, Hank?” Something broke in his tone as he said it.

Hank looked away, his heart beating too fast for it to be healthy, knowing his inability to voice his feelings were confusing his friend.

What did they call it? Emotional constipation?

Connor’s bottom lip quivered, but he managed to restrain the tears for a rainy day, giving the lieutenant permission to walk away.

\--

To say their relationship had shifted was an understatement. The earth beneath them had swallowed them whole, throwing them into a bottomless pit, the light snuffed just for good measure.

Hank kept his eyes to himself, only meeting with Connor’s when they spoke. The android managed to hide how much it hurt physically, but his LED gave him away each time.

Gavin took notice, surprisingly faster to than Nines, who raised an eyebrow but chalked it up to human-android tension, and nothing uncommon.

“You already broke your boy-toy?” the detective asked, trapping Hank in the breakroom.

“Fuck off, Reed,” Hank growled, his hand twitching, ready to pour the coffee on the detective if he kept pushing his buttons.

“Touchy, touchy,” Gavin returned, wiggling his eyebrows, “not getting any lately so you’re taking it out on me, what, did you make fun of his Thirium Pump or something?” he asked.

Hank raised an eyebrow, never knowing Reed to be one to know _anything_ about androids. “What the fuck are you going on about?”

“You know,” Gavin said, lowering his voice, stepping closer to the lieutenant. “His ‘Thirium Pump’,” he continued, making an obscene mime with his fingers.

“Oh, Jesus Gavin,” Hank groaned, rubbing his temples, “you nasty motherfucker.”

“Android-fucker, thank you very much,” the detective corrected, looking insanely proud of himself.

Hank was most definitely going to have a heart attack, he could feel it, the tingling sensation on his left arm and the sharp squeeze in his chest. “Oh my god,” he breathed, steadying himself on the counter, “since _when_? I thought you hated androids?” Hank refuted, shock colouring his tone.

“Well,” Gavin started, looking embarrassed but nevertheless pleased. “I still kinda’ hate him, but you can’t deny what he brings to the table,” the detective admitted, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Wait…” Hank took a second to collect his thoughts, feeling like his legs would give way, “you fucked Nines?”

“More like he fucked me—but you know, semantics,” Gavin shrugged.

Hank looked over Gavin and to his terminal, knowing full well the androids could be listening to their conversation. Surely the detective knew this. (Maybe he didn’t care.)

“Well, good for you,” Hank congratulated, unsure if he should pat Gavin on the shoulder or bathe in bleach.

“Figured you and Connor were doing the same,” the smaller man said, stopping Hank mid-stride, “that’s why you got all buff again, right, ‘cause you wanna’ be able to throw him over your shoulder and fuc—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Hank hissed, covering the detective’s mouth, a crazed glint in his eye. He looked around them, thankful for the relative emptiness of the room. “We’re not doing _anything_ , he’s like my kid’s age,” Hank said, fixing Gavin’s misconception of their relationship.

Gavin raised his eyebrows in scepticism, his grey eyes widening to accommodate his shock. He pulled Hank’s hand away and said, “You’re fucking kidding me, right?” he began, clicking his tongue, “he’s not your kid, Hank, I’m sorry to say that,” Gavin reminded, knowing Cole Anderson would forever be a sore spot for the lieutenant.

“I know, dipshit,” Hank replied, rolling his frustrated eyes, “still doesn’t erase the fact that we’re not doing _anything,_ and we’ll never _do_ anything,” Hank concluded like a promise.

“Uh-huh,” Gavin said, crossing his arms and pinning the lieutenant with the _look_. “How many times?”

“How many times what, idiot?” He probably shouldn’t have taken the bait; Gavin’s grin was unnerving.

“Have you thought about it,” the detective clarified, cocking his head.

“Never,” Hank said, too quick to be true. “Never,” he said again, less convincing.

“Hmm, and you call me an idiot,” Gavin pouted, shaking his head, “good luck with that, Lieutenant, you’re gonna’ fucking need it.”

Hank flipped him off, incensed to the nth degree. How dare he, how _dare_ he insinuate that he thought of Connor more than platonically? He’d given absolutely _no_ indication whatsoever that the android plagued his thoughts at night, that the mere jut of his chin sent his pulse racing and his hands shaking—

Fucking hell.

The lieutenant sighed, returning to his station with a cold coffee and clammy palms. If Connor or Nines had overheard, they gave no indication, their poker faces too alike their regular ones.

Maybe Hank should place more trust in his partner to not eavesdrop on his conversation.

Speaking of which.

Hank couldn’t help his eyes moving across Connor’s face, much like the first time he’d done it, when it was novel and interesting, fooling him into thinking he was human. Now there was no denying it, he might as well be flesh and blood.

His stomach tightened when Connor met his eyes, unspoken sadness clouding the chocolate browns.

_He’s not your son._

He knew, goddammit.

\--

_Oh god, he knew._

Hank nearly growled it, shoving a fist in his mouth as the other gripped his hardened cock, pumping fast, trying to find relief by any means necessary. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it (obviously), but Gavin’s words had unlocked a vault he’d kept hidden from himself, his thoughts flooding with Connor’s face, particularly his cute nose, which oscillated from soft to sharp depending on the lighting.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Hank managed to say, reining the word into his throat so it didn’t escape in a shout.

He was close, unsurprising if you considered his speed and technique, switching from squeezing to outright strangling himself, too infected with lust to care. He grabbed a pillow, biting the plush body, stifling a groan as he came, full and exhausted against his hand, surprised the walls didn’t shudder with its intensity.

Humiliation overtook the lieutenant with a starkness reserved for cold showers.

What if Connor had heard?

“Oh, fuck me,” Hank mumbled, too heavy-limbed to care. He’d worry about it tomorrow, when the bright light threw Connor’s face into a godly state, leaving the lieutenant slack-jawed and wondering why the universe liked punishing him.

\--

The awkwardness of their situation was palpable, but neither of them acknowledged it, content with letting it fester like a stray apple in the trunk.

Hank wanted to believe that everything was normal, but he now had a running commentary of every instance of indecent thoughts, ranging from mildly childish to outright perverse, horrified with himself (yet impressed he still carried such a vivid imagination).

They seldom spoke like they used to and that rubbed Hank the wrong way. Connor had become a constant presence, but one more akin to a ghost than a friend, following Hank out of habit rather than will.

The lieutenant could feel the brown eyes on him as he drank his sorrows, downing each shot like a man stranded in the desert. He did it until he wasn’t as uncomfortable and continued until his mood was raised enough that he didn’t feel like a worthless piece of shit, pining after a man nearly half his age.

“Okay, Lieutenant, I think that’s enough,” Connor said, paying the tab since Hank didn’t know his head from his ass. Even Jimmy agreed, having shoved water-shots for the past three rounds.

“Oh, whadeva’,” Hank slurred, leaning heavily on the android, breathing him in. There was nothing of note, but Hank still shivered, burying his face in the crook of Connor’s neck, sticking out his tongue for a taste. “I don’t think you’re disgusting,” he mumbled.

The android jumped, nearly dropping his inebriated partner in favour of shielding himself. “Hank,” Connor said, his tone a warning, “you’ve definitely gone overboard.”

The lieutenant chuckled, the sound travelling past Connor’s collar and down his spine, making him tremble. “Lieutenant—”

“No, say my name again,” Hank interrupted, sounding surprisingly lucid for someone who’d lost control of both their legs.

“Hank,” Connor amended, feeling his Thirium Pump constrict, “I’m taking you home, okay?” he continued, helping the lieutenant into the car.

“Hmm’kay,” Hank replied, leaning against the chair, rubbing a hand down the front of his shirt, the material too tight.

Connor tried not to stare, the hesitancy familiar to him after months of keeping his peeping to himself. Shaking his head, he focused on the road, pressing on the gas with urgency.

Sumo jumped on them as a welcome, unconcerned that his owner was drunk on arrival and Connor’s anxiety was climbing. “Sumo, down,” Connor ordered, walking the lieutenant to the bedroom. The dog whined but did as he was told, returning to his doggy bed, resting his chin on the edge.

“Hank, why’d you get so drunk?” Connor asked, not expecting to get an answer as he undressed the man, starting with his shoes and jeans, his processors stalling as he eyed the lieutenant’s boxers, the wires in his throat spazzing worriedly.

“I’m not drunk,” Hank insisted, completely smashed.

Connor looked up, meeting the unfocused blues of his partner. “Excuse my language, Hank, but you’re fucking wasted,” the android countered, pulling down the jeans the rest of the way, ignoring the boxers, going for the shirt since it was a safer bet.

Hank stilled the android’s hands, watching as they trembled against the first button. “What are you doing?” he asked curiously, his vision swimming.

“Getting you ready for bed,” Connor replied, his voice soft, scared to speak above a whisper.

“You don’t have to,” Hank reminded, tracing a pattern on Connor’s palm, sending sparks to his code, “you never have to do anything you don’t want to,” he continued, feeling clarity break through his haze like the rays of the sun.

“I-I want to,” Connor said, his words wavering as an emotion crashed into him, spurring him on.

“Well,” Hank shrugged, letting go of Connor’s hands, “I’m not gonna’ stop you,” he said, watching as the android resumed undressing him.

It was intimate but not unlike what a child would do for their parent, and the thought made Hank scoff, destroying any inkling of desire that might have made its way southward.

Connor snapped his eyes to Hank’s, unsure if he’d been doing something wrong. He was at the last button, knowing that once the shirt was gone, so was his excuse to be in Hank’s room. He’d missed the lieutenant, they lived in the same house and worked in the same precinct, but he’d missed him, and the aching in his heart only intensified when they shared moments like these.

“What do you wanna’ do now, Connor?” Hank asked, slowly coming into himself. He wasn’t a high-functioning alcoholic for nothin’.

“I’ll go wash these,” the android replied, using anything to disrupt the atmosphere, wanting to cry from confusion.

“Laundry isn’t until Sunday,” Hank reminded, narrowing his eyes, Connor’s skittishness novel to him—it required further exploring.

“I know, Lieutenant—”

“Hank.”

“I know, _Hank_ ,” Connor corrected, his cheeks bright red. “I’ll just put them with the others then,” he said, sighing when he was out of the room.

The lieutenant grumbled, dragging himself into bed, burying his body under the covers. _Stupid fucking android._

The alcohol may have laxed his tongue, but Hank was a stubborn bitch, and it’d take more than a few shots to get him up and at ‘em.

The android stood by the door, staring through the slit created by its position. Hank looked like a living boulder, tossing and turning and grumbling—lots of grumbling, much of which contained Connor’s name.

Connor looked guilty, unsure of what he’s done but wanting to apologize anyway. Hank’s tongue still burned on his neck, his confession engraved into his programming. Maybe Hank knew more than he let on, or maybe Connor had an unhealthy dose of wishful thinking for breakfast.

He returned to the couch, leaning against Hank’s side, drawing comfort from a phantom.

\--

The lieutenant gave up on sleep after the third hour and went to the bathroom to empty his protesting bladder. Finally, back to himself (kinda’), he brushed his teeth and grabbed a glass of water, downing it as he walked to his room.

He wasn’t sure why he stopped by the couch, but his gaze longed to trace each line of Connor’s body, and what better way to do it than when he was asleep. The lieutenant snorted, astonished by the lengths his mind was willing to take to avoid a subject.

The android opened his eyes, momentarily lost to time and space, but he recalled and became shy, sitting up, making room for the Lieutenant if he wished to join.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake ya’,” Hank said, ruffling Connor’s hair before he could stop himself.

“It’s okay, Lieutenant,” the bot replied, his voice tinny, “we don’t really sleep.”

Hank pressed harder into the scalp, using the blunt end of his fingers to drag against the android’s hair, scared to hurt him until he remembered they felt no pain. “Night Con,” he said, breathless.

The android had bitten his lip and shut down his voice, so Hank wouldn’t hear the humiliating mewl that threatened to tear through his chest. “Night Hank,” he croaked, tenser than a statue.

Hank’s fingers were still in Connor’s downy hair, filling a craving he’d buried for weeks, such a simple act with such incredible consequences. Namely, the slight tent building in his boxers.

“You’re a good kid, Connor,” Hank said, distancing himself from the android, almost as if it hurt to touch or feel.

The compliment left Connor half-full, starved for something more, something stronger—he just wasn’t sure how to ask.

\--

It seemed Gavin possessed a superpower that told him when the Lieutenant and his Plastic Pet had gone through another evolution.

This time he pulled Connor aside, directing them to a room, locking it behind them.

“Detective, I’m not Nines—”

“You got a daddy kink or what?” Gavin asked, raw and unfiltered.

“Pardon?” asked the android, either grotesquely misunderstanding or acutely aware of the term.

“You heard me,” Gavin said circling the android, “making Hank think you’re his son with that goodie-two-shoes image you’ve got going on,” he was just egging on the android, pushing him to his limit, he didn’t mean the words he was saying.

“I’m not making the Lieutenant think anything,” Connor protested, his cheeks pink as he crossed his arms, “what he believes is his business, not mine.”

Gavin smirked, restraining a wink before it ruined his plan. “So, you don’t mind he sees you as his long-lost kid?” Gavin asked, gauging the android’s reaction by how quickly his LED cycled from red to yellow.

“If it helps him cope with the loss of his actual child, I’m willing to be anything the Lieutenant wants me to be,” Connor replied—at least it wasn’t a lie.

“Oh,” Gavin said, finding the sentiment sweet, “you two are fucked then,” he continued, shaking his head in disappointment.

“What exactly are you trying to imply?” Connor asked, his tone dangerously close to murderous.

“Figure it out yourself, dipshit,” Gavin said, having spent enough of his life on these two. “Or don’t,” he said as an afterthought before he left.

Connor stiffened, having a strong hunch the detective was questioning his intelligence. He let it drop, rewinding their conversation, stopping at the unknown phrase: daddy kink.

His eyes widened, and he felt embarrassed for himself even though he was alone. He tried to scrub the term clean from his memories, but it was too late, he’d already taken notes on the matter, saving it for later use even if later never came.

\--

“Hank,” Connor asked, his tone too serious for someone watching television, “do you think of me as your son?”

So, we’re just gonna’ come out and say it, are we?

Hank exhaled through his mouth, too damn old for the sudden shifts in atmosphere and mood, was it too damn hard to wait until _after_ the game to ask him these things?

“No,” Hank started, then thought better about it, sucking at his beer with more desperation, “maybe a little.”

Connor deflated, feeling grimy for wanting to believe it’d be otherwise. “Do I remind you of him, of Cole?” he queried, careful in the way he used the boy’s name, knowing it was still a wound that would never heal.

Hank’s chest shuddered, his mouth forming into a tight sneer. “Maybe a little,” he admitted, the confession doing nothing for his burgeoning feelings. “Does it bother you?”

“Maybe a little,” Connor replied sarcastically, having mustered the courage to smile even if he felt like falling into a deep sleep.

Hank looked at the android, tried to see him in a different light than the one he’d created, and found it impossible—the previous statement of son-hood obsolete.

Connor’s skin tingled, knowing the lieutenant watched him but did nothing about it, opting to stay still, drowning his sensors with the drone of the television.

\--

“Asshole,” Hank said through gritted teeth, pulling Gavin by the collar, “what the fuck did you tell Connor?”

Gavin looked unfazed at the display of aggression, too used to being tossed around like a rag-doll. “Just what he needed to hear.”

“You had no right, no fucking right!” Hank shouted, losing control of his temper and ultimately his voice.

“You’re making a scene, Hank,” Gavin reminded, knowing he looked wimpy suspended in the air by his jacket.

“Oh, I’ll show you a fucking scene—”

“Lieutenant Anderson.” That would be Nines, boyfriend-rescuer extraordinaire. “I would suggest you drop the Detective,” he said, his tone so cold Hank could sigh in relief knowing he sounded nothing like Connor.

“Or what?” Hank hedged, pulling the impish Gavin closer.

“Or I’ll make you.”

Hank let go, and Gavin hissed from the unexpected drop. “Asshole!” he said, rubbing his butt. “Ow,” he whined, knowing he’d bruise from it.

“You deserved it,” Nines mumbled, helping his lover stand, “I told you to stay out of it.”

“Yeah,” Gavin began, rolling his eyes, “since when do I listen to you?”

Hank ignored them, it got easier as he walked away, their voices becoming background chatter as he reached his desk. He could feel the vein at his temple pulse with each heart-beat, the tension headache forming with a vengeance.

“Lieutenant?” Connor asked, having heard everything from his terminal. “Hank?” he tried again when the man hadn’t replied.

Stubborn as a bull, and twice as angry, Hank left his post, too unskilled with his emotions to voice them, and walked to Jimmy’s, knowing he could drown them instead.

\--

Connor stopped by the door of the bar, the ground slick with the still-pouring rain, feeling nostalgia hit him like a ton of bricks—Hank even wore the same jacket.

“It’s time to go home,” he said, and Hank didn’t protest, just let the android pull him from the stool, and help him walk off the worst of his drunkenness.

“This is me, Connor,” Hank started, sensing they were close to his house by the familiar patterns in the street. “I’m still not sure why you choose to stay.” They’ve had this conversation before, but so much has happened since then.

“Because I care for you, Lieutenant,” Connor replied, his belief fixed and strong.

“Whoop-de-fucking-do,” Hank mumbled, the light hiccup of dry laughter bringing unshed tears to his eyes. “Lucky me.” And now he really was crying, feeling pathetic and small against the steady arms of his partner.

Rainy-day tears were the best, no one could see you cry then.

They were soaking wet when they passed the threshold and Connor deemed it necessary that they change. Hank was determined to collapse on the couch, burying his head under piles of stress and a singular thrifted pillow.

“Hank, please,” Connor insisted, keeping the lieutenant standing even as he struggled to fall backwards, “just listen to me for once.”

“And when have you ever listened to me?” the lieutenant asked, knowing it was a stupid counter, but too drunk to think of witty replies. “Just leave me alone, you _fuckin’_ piece of plastic.”

“Hank, I don’t know what else you could possibly say to make me feel worse,” Connor said, the wires in his abdomen coiling into a knot.

“How about this?” Hank started, his focus sharpening, gaze boring holes into the android’s mechanical soul, “I don’t see you as my son.”

Connor let go of the lieutenant, vaguely surprised he didn’t fall on his ass and made to leave the house, Hank’s hold on his wrist stopping him. He could have easily broken out of it, but there was a reason Hank wanted him to stay, and he couldn’t help the shrill tug at his heart at that fact.

“I can’t, Connor,” Hank lamented, slowly pulling the android closer, using more of his body to trap him, like a damn hunter, “I’ve tried, and I _can’t_.”

“You’ll need to be more specific, Ha- _mph_ —”

Hank poured his all into the kiss, at least as much as he could in his state, swallowing the android’s tongue with a hunger he’d seldom seen in himself. “That specific enough for ya’?” he asked through a small gasp.

Connor looked spooked, his eyes wide and wet mouth agape, his LED blinking yellow. “Yes,” he replied, perplexed he could answer, he swore he’d shut down seconds ago.

Hank growled, so convincing that it caught Sumo’s attention. But the dog stayed put, having enough common sense to know when he wasn’t needed.

They kissed again, Connor reciprocating with the same curiosity and enthusiasm he threw into everything he did. They were tripping towards Hank’s room, their wet clothes coming off just like Connor had wanted. The android would’ve smiled if he wasn’t busy cataloguing every taste, touch, and sound into the deepest parts of his code.

“God Connor,” Hank whined, pushing the android against the nearest wall and parting his legs, too impatient to wait for the bed.

Connor whimpered—his processors aflame with each novel sensation. He wasn’t sure why he was reacting like this, it wasn’t as if sex was something androids needed, or even craved. But Hank’s eager, almost possessive nature was messing with the natural order of his anatomy, and he found himself pushing against the lieutenant’s palm, brain heady from overstimulation. “ _Hank_ ,” his voice was wrecked as he said it, sounding like an ancient skipping disk.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Hank reassured, slowing his ministrations to just _look_ at his partner, all dishevelled and wide-eyed, his chest fluttering like a bird’s wings. “Fuck me,” he hissed, his mouth filling with saliva as he kissed Connor again, moving his hand from his crotch to the small of his back, his fingers teasing the edge of his pants.

“Do you want this?” Hank asked seriously, still holding Connor close enough to feel the hard outline of his erection rub against his own when they moved. 

At a loss for words, Connor simply nodded, revealing his acquiesce with another kiss. Hank shuddered, feeling the consent wrap around him like a mantle, a second bout of energy driving him to carry them into the room. (In retrospect, Gavin was right about the getting buff thing.)

“Hank,” Connor sighed into the lieutenant’s ear when he lowered them to the mattress, looking delicious enough to eat—wrapper and everything.

“Hmm?” Hank couldn’t speak, he’d reverted to curse words and grunts for the remainder of the night.

“I have a protocol for these types of things,” Connor started, his voice leaving him as Hank nipped at his neck, trailing down to undo his shirt. “But I’ve never actually done this before,” he confessed, giving the lieutenant pause.

“Do you not want to go all the way?” Hank asked, pulling the words from hell since they’d been so hard to reach.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” Connor said, embarrassed to offer, “but I must apologize beforehand for my inexperience.”

“Well,” Hank sighed, running a hand through his hair, already halfway to its original length, “you’re doing great so far.”

Connor beamed, relieved. He’d been worried about this, among other things, when it looked like Hank wasn’t going to stop.

“Now, where were we?” the lieutenant asked, shucking his shirt and pants, quickly pulling Connor from his own restricting garments. “Fucking perfect,” he rumbled deep in his throat, feeling inadequate as he looked at his partner’s body glow in the dim light.

Connor was shy, wanting to cover himself even as Hank’s hungry eyes sparked erroneous lines of code through his mind. He wasn’t used to this, but he thinks he might start to like it.

If Hank wanted to take his time, he’d save the best for last, but as it were, he was impatient. He freed Connor from his boxer-briefs, nearly fainting at the sight. Yep, this android would be the death of him.

“How are you…how did they…” Hank trailed off, giving up on asking. He tugged at Connor’s cock, surprised when the head started leaking realistically, the android opening himself further for more.

“ _Hank_.”

“You gotta’ stop saying my name like that if you want me to last long enough to fuck you,” Hank warned, massaging the ache in his boxers, thinking he hadn’t been this hard in a long time.

Connor nodded, covering his mouth to muffle his groan. Hank _tsked_ , shaking his head. “I didn’t mean it literally, idiot,” he said, slapping the android’s hands from his face, delighting in the depraved sounds he wrung from Connor, perfectly in tandem with each tug.

“Hank, I’m on fire,” the android said, looking completely fine with that. “It’s so hot,” he quivered, bucking into Hank’s fist.

“Should I stop?”

“No,” Connor gasped as he gripped the sheets, “Lieutenant, it’s telling me to tell you something’s coming,” he said with some difficulty.

“Already?” Hank asked, slowing to a crawl.

“ _Hank_ ,” Connor whined, trying to restart the friction, “Hank please, I’m so close,” he begged, reaching for Hank’s arm as he pulled away, looking desperate.

“Not yet,” the lieutenant said, thinking of what else he could do before he too needed to come.

“Are you—Connor flipped through the dictionary for the correct term—teasing me?” he asked, looking too innocent for his own damn good.

“You could call it that, yeah,” Hank replied, compelling the android to turn on his stomach. “Get on your knees and lean on your arms,” he instructed, guiding the android’s thighs apart.

Hank hesitated for a second, perplexed by the glistening on the android’s entrance. “Uh…Connor?”

“We’re self-lubricating,” Connor answered when he turned his head to see what was taking Hank so long.

“Fuck, they think of everything don’t they?” Hank sighed.

Connor nodded but couldn’t focus with the lieutenant so close to him. “Hank are we—”

“I’m on it,” the human interjected, running a soft finger around the android’s hole, feeling like a pig as his mouth watered. He prodded and poked, finally breaching after a bit of encouragement. 

He might as well have shoved the entire finger inside because Connor nearly collapsed, his body seizing, held still only by the lieutenant’s hand and his own android anatomy.

“ _Hank_ ,” Connor moaned, rocking against the lieutenant’s hand, “more?” he framed it as a question, not wanting to sound greedy.

“Soon,” Hank promised, kneading one of the android’s cheeks. He’d been so hyper-focused with this singular task that he forgot other parts of Connor existed.

If he didn’t fuck up too bad, he hoped to explore them later.

The android didn’t complain about a sting, and Hank wondered if they’d forgone programming pain here too, they obviously didn’t skimp on the sounds. He’d be thinking about the million variations at random hours of the night—watch.

At this point, he was teasing himself, wondering why he was driving his three largest fingers into Connor’s warm body and not the thing literally made for that task.

He chuckled at the android’s objections to the loss, turning him on his spine so he could see his debauched face. “Yeah, I might not gonna' last long either,” Hank warned, finding a position for his aged knees, aligning himself then pushing in, slowly since _he_ was still human.

Connor looked drunk, tossing his head as if it were driving him insane. “Hank, _Hank_ , please, more,” he said through each soft thrust, tightening his thighs around the lieutenant, hard enough to be worrisome.

“Understood,” Hank agreed, bottoming out, staying still for a second as he adjusted, not wanting to finish _too_ early, knowing Connor had begged for this for the past twenty minutes.

Connor’s soft whimper was enough to make him reconsider his entire existence, and Hank had to bite his lip and draw blood to keep himself in check.

They moved in sync, much like they did for everything else, and Connor let Hank lead, even though the lieutenant was sure Connor was more than capable of holding his own.

“Look at you,” Hank breathed, licking a long stripe from the android’s nipple to his earlobe, letting his lips rest on it, whispering, “all wrapped around me like a present.”

Connor looked embarrassed, but unwilling to lower his legs, keeping the lieutenant near through sheer force alone. Not that he believed Hank would leave mid-stride.

“You are feeling something, right?” Hank asked, his insecurities relentless, even in times like these. “It’s not just a show?”

“If you’d like me to turn it off, I can, but it’d be boring for the both of us,” Connor cautioned, cupping Hank’s face in his hands. “I’m feeling everything,” he whispered, pulling Hank into a sloppy kiss, unsure what to do with such a heavy tongue.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Hank swore, unable to think of a more creative way to express his undue pleasure. “Connor, _god_ , you’re just so good.”

The android ate up all the praise, baring his neck for the lieutenant to lick and nibble, evoking further moans bordering on the line of a wounded animal.

Hank’s skin erupted in goose bumps from the sound, his hips faltering and restarting at a brutal tempo, too pent up to take it slow. Connor didn’t seem to mind, keeping time with the lieutenant—really, the perfect partner.

Of course, it couldn’t last forever, and when they did climax, Hank was afraid he’d never see again because his vision had gone white for a second, pushing into Connor as deep as he could go, twitching with the effort not to collapse.

Connor’s was more programmed but just as intense, his body squeezing around Hank and then spilling onto his stomach—untouched. He’d have to catalogue that one for posterity, or maybe ask Hank to do this again.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Connor,” Hank groaned, peppering kisses everywhere there was his android.

“What?” Connor asked, chuckling from the afterglow, Hank’s fondness contagious.

“You fucking ruined me,” the lieutenant answered, pulling out with a slick plop, embracing his partner in a cuddle. “I’m done for.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Connor reassured, patting the lieutenant’s strong arms, “I’ll be there just to make sure.”

Hank huffed, his throat closing from an unknown emotion, burying his head into Connor’s shoulder. “See what I mean? Ruined.”

They still had many things to say, but it could wait until they’d both calmed, the morning always did come quicker than night.

\--

“I fucking hate you,” Hank said as a greeting, shoving a vanilla-bean bullshit coffee into the detective’s hands, knowing from some old orientation folder it was his favourite. “But you were right,” Hank admitted, not sticking around to hear Gavin gloat or see the way his face lit up like a light.

Instead, he had better things to do, like sit at his terminal, and unabashedly look at his partner, their profile still the most breath-taking thing in the world.

At least to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
